


im not really good at this title thing so

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can feel her nails digging slightly in the fabric and you return the favor by leaving one scratch-mark down her arm. She huffs against your mouth and bites at your lip, far too hard and you’re stupid for liking it.</p><p>basically vriska just teasing the hell outta kanaya</p>
            </blockquote>





	im not really good at this title thing so

You’re pretty sure that when she’s toying with you she’s anything but aware she’s doing it. In fact, you’re more than positive that she hasn’t got a clue until you get up and leave that she was actually doing something to successfully fluster you (as if everything she does doesn’t already do so). Vriska will poke at your legs and your sides playfully when she’s bored and if you can provoke something interesting into your situation she’ll usually be distracted in a number of seconds. She’ll quit poking you for a little while and you’ll have a false hope that that’s it over and she’ll be done for now. But that’s never it and after a while she’ll be absentmindedly stroking your knee and you’ll do your best to ignore it. And after a moment whatever was interesting will lose its importance and she’ll focus back on you.

Which is what’s happening right now as you try to make the attempt to watch a lovely film Karkat loaned you; she’s lost interest for a time now and has begun assaulting your lower thigh. While you’re listening intently to the dialogue exchange between the two star-crossed, forbidden lovers, your eyes keep glancing back and forth between their embrace and Vriska’s traveling hand. Jagged nails are skating against your skirt and scratching your skin in an almost delightfully painful way. And while you wish she would stop, you’re practically praying for her to speed up, too.

She doesn’t, of course, because she knows you want her to. Instead she merely strokes your legs with calloused fingers and rough nails until she’s far too close to your waistline for your liking and is making slow movements towards your inner thigh. The male troll is screaming something in pain as he clenches his shattered heart and his moirail is patting his back with a confused expression. You have no idea why he’s suddenly so upset – perhaps the soon-to-be matesprit’s kismesis suddenly went red and the supposed matesprit is falling for her? You’re positive that’s not what’s occurring. “Kan?” Vriska says, grinning up at you mischievously.

Provoked out of your sudden confusion with the film you look down at her and ask, “Yes?” before abruptly standing up and marching out of the room mumbling, with a strangled voice, “I need to use the ablution chamber.”

Vriska laughs loudly and you think the thud is her falling off the couch as she cackles. “Yeah, yeah, Kan! I’m sure you do!”

When you come back the movie is almost over and Vriska’s still suffering from a few giggles. “What?” you say.

“You’re too fucking funny, seriously,” she says.

“How is that?”

“Just, playing all cool like you totally didn’t just go and jack off!” she chuckles through the last part and bites at her lip to stop from completely laughing at you.

“Vriska,” you grumble, face feeling hot and frown purely out of embarrassment. “I assure you that that is certainly not what I was doing while I was missing. I honestly needed to use the ablution chamber for completely sanitary reasons.”

“Yeah, yep,” she smirks. “Please, Kanaya, you’re a terrible liar!” she taunts and pokes at your skirt. “We all well and know just what you were doing.”

 

Even when you don’t invite her over she appears on your doorstep anyway, all impish smiles and more than ready to poke at you again, now that she’s more than aware of what her little antics can do to you. Today, though, you’re actually quite busy and can’t waste time watching a fetching romantic movie or playing foolish games that involve murdering for Vriska’s lusus. Terezi has requested a new LARPing outfit be made and you’re more than happy to oblige, but the pattern has proven a bit of a challenge for you and your plan is to have at least a majority of it finished off by early evening.

While your fingers work at guiding the fabric under the machine, Vriska lays on your pile of pillows and talks carelessly about Eridan being a stupid gru8 and how he’s generally a the best kismesis ever, though she can hardly stand him now that their autispice has become her matesprit – not that she’s complaining, she says hurriedly, and it makes you smile. “Seriously, though,” she says, “he’s just so… annoying.” Then she sighs and rolls around in your pillows (you silently cringe because you imagine her huge knot of hair has probably developed a few more tangles with all her movement).

“Yes,” you agree. “He’s quite the nuisance.”

“Finally, she speaks!” Vriska shouts. “God, Kanaya, why can’t we do something fun? Is this outfit really that fuckin’ important?” she pauses, and while you form a remark in your head, she adds, “more important than me?”

And you know she’s just toying with you because she holds herself far above that useless degree of self-pity but it makes you sigh and put down your work anyway. “No, Vriska, I suppose it is not.” You stand and she sits up and when you’re in reach she pulls you into the pile with her. You go to say how unneeded that was and how you are perfectly capable of sitting down on the pile of plush by yourself, but her lips are on yours in a matter of moments. You almost choke from shock but quickly fall into the routine of trying to keep your lipstick from smearing all over each other’s faces.

Her hands are on your hips and your fingers are politely splayed on her upper arms. Vriska is biting at your lips and trying to goad your tongue outside of your mouth. You’re stubborn and she can’t succeed so she gropes at your rump and slides you into her lap – which provokes a gasp out of you and it’s just enough to slither her tongue against yours. You groan, though you’re unsure whether it’s out of anger or thankfulness. While your hands remain on her arms, she continues to move hers unpredictably until your bulge is unsheathed and rising against the fabric of your undergarments. It’s obvious, and even though Vriska’s eyes are shut you’re more than sure she knows it’s there. She proves your prediction by ever so delicately passing her fingers over it – under the disguise of returning her hand to your hip – and making you gasp again. She snickers, and you stand up and grumble, “I need to,” you huff away a strand of hair. “Use the ablution chamber.”

She laughs at you while you make your way out of the room. You think, as you trail away, you hear an attempt at words somewhere in her bout of laughter but they come out as a tangled mess of syllables and breaths. “Yeah, yeah!” you hear after awhile. “You go enjoy yourself, Maryam!” and more cackling ensues.

You can’t really conjure up a comeback at the time, but the next thing to escape your mouth is small sigh – almost a gasp – of relief when you begin unbuttoning your skirt and pull away your underwear (which, to your disappointment, has become a mess of jade that you’re unsure you’ll be able to ever clean).

 

With two points in her direction, Vriska tends to come over more often and almost daily to add more to her winnings – though this really isn’t a contest and there’s not a prize. You do finally finish Terezi’s outfit, though, and return it to her on one of the days Vriska’s only pestering is through Trollian. She remarks vaguely about your activities when you abscond from her, and when you flat-out deny such suspicions she laughs at you – eight times – and leaves you with a wink.

Well, you assumed this to be a day away from her antics. Apparently a majority of her day was full of murdering and feeding and washing away blood, but she’s cut out just enough time to visit you and make you let her spend the night. Like you needed very much convincing, you think. It’s almost pathetic how much you pity this girl.

When she appears at your hive she’s stupidly tired and ready to collapse. She does once you lead her into the main chamber and she finds something that remotely resembles a pile and groans happily once her head is pressed against the cotton. “Mind if I brush your hair?” you ask, and she waves her hand. You assume it mean she doesn’t give a fuck.

You search for a brush and soon Vriska is snoring and you’re not sure she’d enjoy you ripping out chunks of her hair as she naps. You sigh, wanting nothing more than to transform her hair into the lavish streak it could be – though she would hate you for it. “It’s all about lookin’ menacing!!” she would shout if her snores weren’t in the way. “But you would look stunning,” you would whine, and she would retort with an insult that you can’t look ‘stunning’ while being a total 8itch, Kan, it can’t 8e done!

Ever since the two of you have begun your matespritship, she’s successfully pulled you into the darkness of the night; and while you’ve missed the sunrays, you’re sure you would miss her more. Maybe. You do adore your garden.

Vriska sleeps for almost three hours before waking up to find you patiently reading. “Heeeeeeeey, Kan,” she says, smiling and looking a mess with hair sticking out in all corners. Even Aradia’s mane doesn’t make you wanna pull out so many combs at once. 

“Hello, sweet Vriska,” you smile, smirk. “How was your nap? Pleasant, I would hope.”

She rolls out of the pile – her hair is so tangled it’s disgusting – and comes up to hug you. She smells distantly of blood, but more or less like your pillows – cotton, satin, and wool. You find it weird that someone who murders daily can smell so satisfyingly peaceful. “Perfect, of course!” she says, startling you out of your thoughts. “Had some wicked dreams, though; some totally weird shit involving Tavros.”

“Hopefully not too wicked to derange the ever-powerful Vriska Serket?”

She sneers at you and chuckles. “Maryam, please, nothing is too wicked for me,” Vriska falls back on the pile. “Come and join me, Kan!” she commands, pleads, something in between there, waving her hand over in the direction of herself.

You can’t say no and do join her, hoping absentmindedly that she’s still too tired to mess with you now. To your incredible luck, she isn’t – because she has all the luck, all of it – and almost immediately has her lips on yours. “Vriska,” you make an attempt to mumble, but it comes out garbled and she only snickers against your mouth. Her hand is on your hip and her other is toying with your hooked horn. You can feel her nails digging slightly in the fabric and you return the favor by leaving one scratch-mark down her arm. She huffs against your mouth and bites at your lip, far too hard and you’re stupid for liking it.

Vriska gets back at you before you can attack once more by snapping one of the buttons on your skirt. You’re surprised she didn’t just rip the entire thing apart. She snaps another; you bite at her lip and scratch her arm with three of your nails. Vriska laughs and pulls away from your kiss and you realized you had drawn blood. “Please, Kan,” she kisses you lightly. “Ha, it’s not like we’re black or anything!” and with that she drags rigged, sharp claws down your leg, to your knee, and rips your skirt.

“Vriska!” you say, tearing away from her face to look at the garbled mess of fabric that used to be your skirt. “Oh my god,” you pout. “Serket, that was by far my favorite garment to wear. There was absolutely no need-!”

“Shuuuuuuuut up,” she grins again. “I’ll rip your underwear too if you don’t shut your seed flap!”

“Heaven forbid,” you roll your eyes. “These are my favorite pair.”

“I said quiet!” Vriska laughs once more and puts your mouths back together. While you silently mourn your skirt, you intend to get back at her for this tragic event. Almost without her noticing, you slide off that nasty jacket and tug at her pants. “Jeez, Kan,” she snickers, and pokes at your sheathed bulge. Your hands freeze and you gasp against her fangs. “Yeah,” she kisses your neck. “That’s what I thought.”

You shut your eyes and steal yourself for a moment to enjoy the feeling of her nails – claws, really – scratching around your thighs and navel.

Vriska, as predicted, does quickly get rid of your undergarment – though, thankfully, she doesn’t rip them. Instead, they’re slid down to your knees before you can really object and she’s scratching at you again. 

A series of hummed V’s escaped your clenched teeth and it takes more will power than you knew you had to not buck against her hand. She’s successfully gotten your bulge to unsheathe itself, and her fingers are sliding against it and you swear you’re melting. “Damn,” she comments, “pretty impressive package there, Kanaya.” Your face is hot enough but you’re sure it goes up a few more degrees.

You’re not sure just how many relationships Vriska’s been in of this sort, but you’ve got to admit she pulls off the atmosphere of being pretty damn experience – why shouldn’t she? She is Vriska Serket, after all.

Anyway, she thumbs at your nook experimentally while groping at the base of your bulge and you’re a shaky mess of gasps and stunted hip-bucking. It’s embarrassing, really, because she seems as if she’s hardly trying, and she’s highly entertained by that, and even then you’re falling apart. Fangs are slipping down your neck as she bites and laps at your skin, one of her hands making a mess of your hair as the other occupies itself with your sex. Her nails occasionally snip at your skin and it only makes you moan and bite at your cheek.

Quickly, too quickly, you’re shivering and your head is suddenly pressed up against the crook of her neck as your genetic material coats her palm and your hips buck against her wrist. You gasp out a short, hardly understandable, “Vriska,” while you ride through your climax. If everything wasn’t white hot you’d probably be able to hear her snickering better but as of the moment you honestly don’t give a fuck.

“See?” she kisses your nose. “We could’ve been doin’ that this whole time!”

You blush and continue to hide in her neck. “Whatever.”


End file.
